Stone Walls
by Lover's-Lament
Summary: Angelica Burnham witnessed her boyfriend commit murder. He trapped her within his house, the house with stone walls. Now, an inquiring CSI may be the only one able to set her free from her stone cage.


Stone Walls

**Title: Stone Walls**

**Summary: Angelica Burnham witnessed her boyfriend commit murder. He trapped her within his house, the house with stone walls. Now, an inquiring CSI may be the only one able to set her free from her stone cage. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything CSI or CSI related, though I very much wish I do. I own Angelica and I own this storyline.  
Rating: T for language and mature themes**

**Author's Notes: Alright, I haven't written in the CSI fandom for a little while, so I may be a bit rusty. But this idea came to me out of nowhere, and I'm going to see where it goes. If I decide that it's not going anywhere, I'll stop. Okay, please review if you have criticism (_Constructive _criticism, not nasty flaming criticism) or if you just want to comment on anything. Yeah, I'm rambling still, okay, bye! **

Every city has something that no other city has quite like it. Paris, France has the Eiffel Tower. Calgary, Alberta has the Calgary Stampede. Orlando, Florida has Disneyworld. Whether it's something that they specialise in, like museums or restaurants, or whether it's simply something unique, every city has something.

Las Vegas' claim to fame was, without a doubt, it's casinos. Whether it was the Mirage or the Frontier, the casinos in Las Vegas were big, bright and loud. Every casino probably brought in billions of cash a day, and shelled out about a quarter of it to those lucky people who actually gain a profit by gambling. Underlying every sound was a constant bass thrum, the beat of the city, muffled by the sounds of a thousand slot machines clanging and dinging, and of people yelling around the room. People never spoke normally in casinos, they always yelled to the person next to them as if they were half a football field away. All the sounds compounded together into it's own personal song, music to some ears, noise to others.

Deep within these constant blurs of movement and sound, nobody took close notice to the two men who sat next to each other in a dark corner of the bar, plotting the murder of a man. One of them was young, probably in his thirties, with short dark blonde hair which looked as if it had been purposefully mussed to look sexier. He was tall, with a tan face and a well-toned body, and he looked as if he were the type who got up every Saturday morning at six and jogged for two hours straight. Slick silver sunglasses rested on a thin nose, despite the already dim lighting in the corner of the bar, and he was slouched back against the red plush booth, his arms folded behind his head, obviously relaxed and stress-free. The other man was much older, probably in his late forties, or at least he looked it. His light brown hair was already streaked with grey and thinning, and he had a large bald spot on the crown of his head. He was paler than the younger man, as if he spent most of his time at a computer, and he had a developing potbelly as well as a very fleshy face. He was sitting almost rigidly straight, his hands clenched tightly together on top of the smooth table, and he seemed to be sweating quite a lot.

Both of the men were wearing business suits, though the first man had his jacket off and slung over the top of the booth, as well as his tie undone and loose around his neck. The other man often reached up and tightened his tie, looking around the bar nervously as if afraid he was being watched. The younger man turned his head towards him from where he'd been trying to get the attention of the waitress.

"Carl, relax. Loosen your tie, take off your jacket. We've got nothing to worry about." The waitress, who had apparently been miraculously summoned by psychic connection, appeared to Carl's left, chewing her gum loudly and pulling a pencil from behind her ear and a notepad from within her black apron. Carl jumped like he'd been electrocuted, then relaxed, looking awkward as the waitress gave him a weird look.

"What can I get you guys?" She asked finally, and the as yet unidentified younger man ordered them two apple martinis. The girl nodded her head, writing it down as she chomped on her gum without looking up and then turned and melted into the crowd. The older man turned his head to watch her leave, then leaned across the table, obviously addressing the younger man.

"How can you be so calm, Tyler? We should be doing this somewhere a lot more private, there's no telling who could be listening…" Carl was wringing his hands together on the table, watching Tyler for a reaction, but he was sadly disappointed as Tyler merely laughed lightly, as if Carl had made some sort of inside joke. Carl, on his part, did not look amused.

"Don't _worry_, Carl, nobody is paying the slightest attention to us. We're just two other patrons in the bar…calmly discussing how we're going to kill a man." Tyler smirked as Carl jumped like he'd sat on a coal and looked around as if he were expecting the whole bar to fall silent and stare over at the pair. On the contrary, nobody had even reacted. They were still continuing on with their own conversations, without a single pause, obviously with no idea what Tyler had just said. "You see? Nobody will even remember we were here. We're just two more in an endless blur of customers that have sat in this booth."

Miraculously, the apple martinis arrived less than five minutes later, on a platter among beer bottles, vodka and other unidentified drinks that were to be served to other patrons. Having received their drinks, there was silence for a few moments as they each drank from their respective glasses. Tyler took slow, casual sips, while looking around the bar, checking out waitresses and female patrons alike through his silver shades, smiling to himself. Carl took quick gulps, obviously trying to calm his nerves through the drink, and had finished his long before Tyler had even gotten halfway through his glass.

"Are you _sure _everything is planned right? There's no room for mistakes?" Carl asked, as Tyler ordered him another drink absently. "Let's just go over it one more time, and make sure…" Tyler sighed, half out of frustration, half out of amusement, then put down his martini and leaned forward, pushing his sunglasses down his nose, revealing dark brown eyes, and he looked at Carl in amusement for a few moments before beginning.

"Okay, fine, if you really want to, we'll go over it one last time." Tyler leaned forward slightly and rested his forearms on the top of the table, taking a deep breath. "Here's the deal. I call Eric. Tell him that I've got his money, to cover the whole Dracan family's debt. Tell him to come over to my house to collect it. He drives out, comes in, I shoot him through the heart. He's dead, I find the debt paper in his pocket, I burn it up, bada bing, bada boom, our debt, under all eyes, is 'repaid'." Tyler leaned back again, obviously pleased with his plan, and Carl (Who we now know is Tyler's older brother) shifted slightly, thinking it over.

"What about the body?" Carl asked, his brow furrowed, his hands still wringing together on the table and he kept looking around the bar shiftily. "What are you going to do with that?" Tyler smiled at his brother, as if appreciative of his thinking skills, before speaking again.

"Dump it. The river behind my house will send him floating out of our lives. Oh, and by the way, you're going to have to provide an alibi for me that night, if anybody asks questions. Say I was at your house the entire night, playing cards and drinking." Carl nodded absently, but still seemed worried about something, mulling over things.

"But…what about your girl? What if she sees?" Tyler let out a small burst of laughter that made Carl wince, and a couple patrons glanced over their way before resuming their activities. "What? What's so funny?" Carl said, slightly angry, fidgeting with his hands as he looked around.

"What's funny is that you think I would be stupid enough to do it when there was any chance that someone might see." Tyler said, regaining his composure as he looked over at his brother with a carefree grin. "She's going away tomorrow night, and will be back on Sunday. I have nothing to worry about. Speaking of which…" Tyler glanced at his watch, then drained the last of his martini, stood up and slipped on his jacket, before tying his tie back up tightly. "I told Angelica I had to work overtime tonight and that I'd be back by 8. I've got to get going." Carl stood up as well, tightening his tie absently.

"Yeah, Mary's going to wonder too…" He said absently, referring to his wife who waited at home for him, and which reminded him of something else. "Oh, Mary and the kids are going to be away tomorrow night as well…going to see her sister. They'll be back on Saturday…" Tyler nodded, understanding what he meant, and held out his hand to shake his brother's hand.

"Tomorrow night it is then. I'll see you then." Tyler withdrew a pack of mint gum from his pocket and popped one in his mouth to mask the smell of alcohol on his breath. "Just think…by Saturday night, we won't have to worry about debts anymore." Carl had to smile at that, and took a piece of gum from Tyler for himself, and then the two brothers separated, each heading towards their respective cars. Carl with a respectable and reliable mini-van, which suited his lifestyle well of driving children to school, sports, and other activities, while Tyler was in a sleek, jet black convertible with a custom-done flames painted on each side. It suited his lifestyle well of picking up chicks, and of impressing people. Each slipping into their driver's seat, they disappeared off down the strip, Carl heading towards suburbia, and Tyler drove towards the hills.

As the jet-black convertible winded through the dark hilly roads, Tyler caught sight of his house in the distance and smiled to himself. Let's not make any pretences that Tyler was of moderate wealth simply because he owed money to someone and could not pay it. The fact was: Tyler could pay the debt fairly easily. He just didn't want to. Tyler's father had owned a multimillion dollar corporation, and had, when he had died, left his company to be co-owned by his two sons; Carl and Tyler. Together they had owned it fairly peacefully, until the market had begun to decline. Tyler had immediately said they should sell. With the billions they would earn, they would be able to retire, though Tyler was, at the time, only twenty-eight and his brother had been thirty-eight. Although they were brothers, you can imagine, judging by their father's wealth, that they were only related by father, not by mother. Neither of them remembered their own mothers, though Carl remembered Tyler's. They never stayed around long.

Eventually, Carl was convinced to sell, and they both made billions off of the deal, just as Tyler had predicted. By then, Carl had settled down with a wife and was expecting the first of what would be two children, and so he was happy that he could live comfortably as well as support his new wife and child. After some smart investments, Tyler managed to expand his bank account admirably, and so, had pretty much retired by the time he was thirty. Still young, and still with lots of time left to do whatever he wanted, he suddenly got the idea in his head that he wanted to live in a castle. So, he used a billion or so of his considerable wealth, hiring the most expensive architects in the free world, to build him his castle, which sat nestled a few miles south of the main area of Las Vegas.

The house was surrounded by an six-foot tall iron fence, with razor sharp pointers at the top of each pole. Impossible to climb. The house itself was made out of stones of varying shapes and sizes, much like a real castle would have been, and was three stories high. With two hundred feet width and two hundred feet depth, the house was absolutely enormous. To complete the castle image, he had had the architects build a tall stone spire-like tower in the front, which was about four stories high from the ground to the very tip of the roof. Although if he'd waited long enough, he would have been sure to have ivy growing up the walls, he'd refused to wait and had gardeners place the ivy on the walls, where they continued to grow serenely as if they'd grown there on their own. The entire place looked medieval from a distance, as if it were a tiny section of the world that had been frozen in time.

That image was dispelled, however, pretty much the second you arrived at the gate. There was a complicated security pad sitting in a small box next to the driveway, as well as an intercom for visitors (not that there were a lot of those, besides a few people who thought the castle was a museum and some of Tyler's business partners and friends.). Once you got through the gate, you entered what some might call a fairy-tale garden. Driving along the driveway, you went under arches of white and red roses, as well as apple blossoms on both sides. Beyond the apple blossoms, there was a huge garden, with every kind of flower imaginable, as well as a large goldfish pond (complete with fountain) and a hedge maze. There were hundreds of paths you could take through the gardens, so many that it was impossible to take the same path twice.

Within the house, there was every modern convenience imaginable; high-tech security system, 50-inch plasma T.V and the most expensive entertainment system on the market. There was a whole room devoted to the child in Tyler, packed wall to wall with every game system, arcade game, and computer game imaginable. The house was huge, and looking at it, one would think that dozens of people lived there, but it wasn't the case. Until Tyler met Angelica, there had been just him and a few odd servants living in the house full-time.

Speaking of Angelica, she was sitting at a table in the room that had been designated 'her' working area by Tyler when she'd moved in. Sitting in front of her was a laptop which she was typing on, every so often pausing and re-reading what she'd written, and every so often she would delete something and type it again. Angelica Burnham had always enjoyed writing, and had eventually done what very few people can stake claim to being able to do: She'd made a career out of it. Sure, she wasn't a very well-known author, but she had a large enough grouping of readers that she had been making enough to get by on. Her specialty? Murder mysteries. Her novels were tales of Detective Joanna P. Granger, a detective who lived and worked in a made-up modern-day city that Angelica had based mainly on Las Vegas. Angelica had released three books and was now working on her fourth, which was almost ready to send to her editor. Joanna had solved the murder, put the criminal behind bars with her customary flair, and had returned home to an almost empty house, fed her cats, and was now settling in to sleep. Angelica just needed to put in a suitable final line.

"Another day. Another murder." _No, that sounds idiotic…_She deleted that and sat in front of her laptop staring at the screen for a little while, trying to will the inspiration to come to her. Taking a sip of her hot chocolate, she pursed her lips. Her hair was dark brown with a couple of blonde streaks, and held up in a tight ponytail in the middle of her head. She was fairly tall, though quite a few inches shorter than her boyfriend (who was 6'2"), and was an average weight. Although not overweight, she wasn't supermodel skinny, and seemed to be a fairly healthy weight. She had fair skin, (most likely from sitting inside at a laptop most of the day), but looked as if she were in good shape. Of course, she got her exercise jogging around the gardens, but that was beside the point. Resting on her slim nose were a pair of dark blue glasses, which were a slightly squared oval shape.

She was wearing blue jeans with a black belt and a white T-shirt. Normally, when she was working, she just sat in her pajamas all day, getting up only for food and to use the bathroom, but she had taken an hour to head out for lunch that day, so she had been required to get dressed. The shirt was slightly wrinkled, suggesting that it had been picked up off the floor and thrown on in a hurry. She was in bare-feet, but the tell-tale socks and shoes that sat haphazardly around the room said that she had thrown them off after returning from lunch. The remnants of Chinese sat to her right, still in the cardboard boxes that they'd come in, and there were some chopsticks sitting in one of the boxes. Angelica could have easily ordered out or sent one of Tyler's servants to go pick up some lunch for her, but she had decided that she didn't want to wait for food, plus the servants were working hard enough as it was.

Returning to the present, her train of thought was derailed by the sound of a clearing throat from behind her. Jumping, she turned her head, her creative imagination envisioning a tall dark man with a large axe, ready to cleave her skull. _Ooh, that's a good image…wonder if I can work that into my next novel…_ Of course, what met her eyes was Tyler, still in his business suit, his sunglasses in his pocket now, leaning against the doorframe and smiling at her.

"Hey babe." He greeted as he walked in and leaned down, giving her a quick peck on the lips. "How's your work going? Is my favourite author nearly done her next book?" Although certainly being the girlfriend of Tyler would not require her to continue writing to support herself, Angelica enjoyed writing, and getting paid for it was always a bonus.

"Things are going great! I'm nearly finished…I just have to put in the last line." Angelica said, returning the kiss as she turned back to the laptop. Tyler crouched, and watched her as she frowned at the computer screen, obviously trying to think. "I always have trouble with the last line…" She muttered to herself, and Tyler chuckled lightly.

"Why don't you pack it in for the night…?" He said in a whisper, turning his head to run kisses along her neck and shoulder, pushing aside her hair, and she smiled, giggling lightly. "Maybe I can _inspire _you." Sliding his hand under her shirt, he started playing with her bra strap to illustrate his point. Angelica sighed and turned her chair so that she was facing him, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I wish I could, hun…" She said, leaning in to give him a passionate kiss, then pulling back with a small smile. "But I've got to pack..." Tyler had buried his face into her neck, nuzzling it, obviously enjoying himself, but she could hear him groan into her neck, obviously disappointed. He pulled his head out and looked at her with a pout.

"Why do you have to go to this stupid convention?" He asked, although they both were fully aware that he knew the reason. He just needed reassurance that she wasn't leaving off on some secret love affair. Or at least that's what Angelica thought. "Couldn't you just stay with me and we'll try and re-create that long weekend in August…?" Angelica had to blush lightly at the suggestion, because re-creating that weekend would include a very large amount of naughty acts. Naughty _and _kinky, that she would rather die than reveal to any of her friends.

"Tempting." Angelica said with a laugh, before shaking her head and smirking. "But no. Being invited to this convention is a very prestigious event. To just not show up might scar my career forever." Turning back around, she looked at the laptop screen for a bit longer before giving up with a frustrated sigh. Saving what she had written that night, she started to turn off the laptop when arms encircled her again and lips were pressed against her neck.

"What about _before _you pack?" He asked hopefully, and she laughed again, snapping the laptop closed and turning to him. "Or what if I _help _you pack and _then _we can?" Tyler asked, sounding like a little kid who was trying to bargain his parents into buying him candy with promises of doing all their chores. Angelica lightly smacked him on the arm and laughed, shaking her head, but looking as if she was close to being convinced. Hey, she was human!

"You're incorrigible!" She said with a laugh, but gave him a kiss nonetheless, while Tyler scanned through his brain for the meaning of the long descriptive word. This was what he got for having an author for a girlfriend. She used more and longer words just to say something as simple as 'I love you', but still, it was something he found intriguing about her. Although usually she spoke like any normal human being, every so often she would use some word that he (being of limited school sort of smarts, despite his seemingly unending wealth) wouldn't understand. This was one of them.

"Does that mean 'You're so sexy and I want to jump you right now'?" Tyler asked, earning himself another light smack from Angelica. "Because if that's so, then you're incorrigible too, Angel." That was Tyler's pet-name for her, and she liked it, though it was a little unorthodox. Angelica frowned, obviously hovering at a crossroad, trying to decide, then seemed to give in.

"Fine. **IF **you help me pack and I'm fully packed by ten." With that agreement made, Tyler swooped her up into his arms and gave her a long kiss, carrying her towards her bedroom, obviously hoping to make her forget the deal they'd made. As they disappeared into the room, Tyler shut the door behind him, to keep out any prying maid's eyes.

To make a long story short, Tyler was _very _enthusiastic about helping out, and they were done by nine-thirty, and let's just say…they didn't get to _sleep _until around one.

The next night brought one of the few commercial vehicles that ever made it's way past the gates: a taxi. The taxi sat in the front, and was being closely watched by a servant to make sure the driver didn't get out and try and steal anything from the garden. Meanwhile, Angelica was stressing out inside, making sure for the fifth time that her laptop was still securely in it's case, and that the battery charger was also inside. Tyler was watching, amused, and holding her one relatively small black suitcase. Now wearing a loose white shirt un-tucked overtop of khaki pants, he looked a lot more like a millionaire.

"Angelica, you're not missing anything, _trust _me. The taxi's waiting outside, and you're going to miss your flight..." Leaning in, he gave her a quick peck on the lips before pulling her towards the door, grinning as he handed her the suitcase. "Oh, and babe…don't try and call me, okay? I'm heading over to Carl's. We're going to play cards and drink beers, and I promise I won't try and drive if I have more than one." Holding up his finger in a scout's honour sign, she laughed, and gave him one last kiss before climbing into the backseat of the cab.

"I love you!" She called out the window, blowing him a kiss which he returned, and then the cab disappeared around the corner, and Tyler let the happy smile fall from his face. One thing you have to know about Tyler: He was a lot like his father. His girlfriends never stuck around long (not by choice, mind you, they were usually dumped after a couple months), but Angelica had been around for nearly a year now. The time was coming soon to dump her and head to greener pastures. He might do that after this weekend, actually…if it weren't for the great sex, he might have already.

It was time to get down to business. Strolling into the house, the first thing he did was find all of the servants (there weren't too many, thankfully) and explain that they all had the night off. His reasons were that, since he was going off to Carl's, it was pointless to have them sitting around the house not doing anything. Although they were suspicious (as any employee who worked for Tyler very long would naturally be) they didn't voice any objections, and by eight, the only person left in the building was Tyler. With a smirk on his face, he picked up the phone and dialled in a number.

"Hey, Eric. I got the cash that me and Carl owe you. Yep, all of it, two hundred grand. Yep. Well, I was hoping you'd come by and pick it up from my house. Am I alone? Of course I'm alone. Why would I get the cops wise to this, Eric, I'd be in deep trouble too, don't you know that it's illegal to gamble anywhere but at legitimate casinos? Uh huh. I'd like to request that you come alone as well. Uh huh. Alright. Midnight sound okay? Great. See you then. Goodbye." The phone was hung up with an ominous click, and Tyler grinned before turning away and looking down fondly at the .45 caliber pistol in his hand.

At midnight, Angelica was still sitting in the airport, absolutely fuming as she glared at the screen that leered down at her. Her flight had been delayed because of bad weather over in New York, so bad that the planes couldn't fly. Although by this point, it was obvious that the plane wasn't flying any time tonight, Angelica had still sat determinedly in the airport, knowing that if she didn't, she might lose her chance to get to the convention. She had heard rumours that one of the speakers was a woman author that had inspired her to begin writing, a woman who was only known as M.X., because she was a recluse. There was also a rumour that M.X. would reveal her true identity, and Angelica was absolutely ecstatic with excitement. Now, however, it didn't appear as if she would get the chance to meet her inspiration, or even to see what she looked like. Growling in the back of her throat, it was, ironically, Angelica who was feeling murderous, not her boyfriend.

Interrupting her train of thought, a cell phone rang, and it took her a moment to realise it was hers. Fishing through her purse, she withdrew the sleek silver phone (a gift from Tyler) and flipped it open, holding it to her ear, only with difficulty managing to suppress the urge to yell an impatient 'What!' into the phone.

"Hello?" Was what she said instead, with a pleasant tone, though at the same time she was hoping that it was somebody she could easily brush off. She was not in the mood for somebody randomly calling to 'catch up'. Though why anybody would call her cell phone to do that (especially not at midnight) was beyond her.

"Ange! Tell me you aren't on the plane yet?" It took Angelica a few minutes to recognise the voice as that of one of her fellow authors, Tara Melas. Tara was going to the convention as well, but had flown out a couple days earlier so that she could shop in the famous New York streets. The signal was crackling, as if someone were crinkling a piece of paper at one end.

"Tara! No, I'm not, because of all the bad weather in New York, but why are you calling me? What's the matter?" Holding a finger to her ear to try and hear her friend above the static, Angelica stood up, with the idea of heading out the doors to where there might be a better signal.

"The convention's…cancelled…don't bother…out tonight. There's…circus carnies…" Tara was cutting out, so that most of her words were dissolved into static, which Angelica figured was a result of the storm that raged in New York. "Breaking…talk to…miss you…." With that, the connection cut out, whether because Tara hung up or merely because the storm had finally cut them out completely was uncertain. Angelica stared at the phone in her hands for a moment before hanging up. The convention had been cancelled, that much she had gathered, and then Tara had said something about circus carnies…deciding that trying to interpret what her friend had been talking about was useless, Angelica mumbled something dark under her breath before picking up her stuff and heading towards the desk.

After cancelling her ticket (without a refund, unfortunately), Angelica headed towards a payphone, digging through her purse. She had to call Tyler and let him know that it was cancelled, but then she paused, the coins halfway to the slot. Tyler had said not to bother trying to call, because he would be at Carl's, and that meant that he'd be late, if he came home at all. There was no point calling home and she certainly didn't know Carl's number. Ah well…he'd be in for a surprise when he got home, that was for sure.

Beckoning to a cab, she climbed in and sat in the back, with her laptop sitting on her lap as she stared out the window at the passing casino lights, trying to block out the profanities that the driver screamed at other offending cars. There was a lot of road rage around that night, it looked like there was some sort of accident on the strip. As traffic was moving at a crawl, she suddenly caught sight of some familiar looking yellow tape. _A murder! _Her mind said instantly, and she rolled down her window, so as to hopefully get more material for her next book. Lying on the sidewalk of the strip was the apparent victim, his eyes still open, his mouth agape in shock. He obviously hadn't even know what hit him, judging by the bullet wound right between his eyes. _Sniper…a good one too. _She concluded as she noted the lack of blood (once they were dead they stopped bleeding) and the apparent angle at which he had been hit. Probably someone on the rooftop or an upper floor of a building nearby. The body was surrounded by shattered glass, like jagged snow, which had come from the window behind him. Obviously the bullet had passed right through his skull and shattered the window on the other side.

Seeing that they were starting to move faster again, she yanked out a notepad and started scribbling furiously, not wanting to forget any of what she'd seen. It was good. Real good. She'd have to invent a motive and suspects, a name, a history… Already her mind was whirling with ideas and she made a mental note to start work on it as soon as she could. The cab driver peered back at her, and seemed to be curious as to what she was doing.

"You some kind of reporter or somethin'?" He asked, and she barely glanced up, still scratching away with her pen, determined to get all the details down before she forgot. "'Cause if you are, you might want to wait until we're farther away. One of them cops sees ya writing, they'll stop the cab and make ya hand it over." At this Angelica did look up, frowning as she realised that he was indeed right. Those who were working nearby were glancing into each window that passed. Quickly writing one last thing down, she pushed the notepad into her pocket and contented herself with memorizing every detail of the crime scene. Directly next to the car as they went cruising by was a young man about her age, wearing a black vest that had 'CSI' written on the breast pocket in small white letters. He had thick black hair and brown eyes, and was talking seriously with one of the police officers, who was pointing around at the buildings, and the CSI was nodding his head solemnly, giving him his full attention. As if sensing eyes on him, his eyes flickered over towards her. He smiled lightly, and she, without thinking, smiled back before the cab sped on, leaving them as nothing more than two ships passing in the night.

Turning in her seat, she saw that the CSI had returned to his conversation, apparently without missing a beat. Oh damn it, she'd flirted with him without thinking…when a man smiles in a woman's direction and she smiles back, they take it as a confirmation that she's interested. Luckily, it appeared that the CSI had been too focussed on his work to make anything more than a friendly smile. She had noticed that his cheeks seemed to be permanently dimpled, as if he smiled a lot, and she made a mental note to see if she could include someone like that into her story. Maybe…

Angelica retreated into her thoughts, plotting out her next story and still tossing ideas for the last line of the current one, and for the remainder of the ride was silent. The only time that there was any sound was when the taxi driver requested that she open the gate for him. Climbing out of the car, she was sure she gave the driver a lovely view of her rear end as she bent over to tap in the combination, then climbed back into her seat as the gate silently slid open. As they got closer to the front door, she frowned as she saw a car in the driveway. Now normally that wouldn't be unusual, except that she knew Tyler had sent all of his cars to be washed and waxed, except for his black convertible. And the car in the driveway was a red Corvette, much different than Tyler's car.

Paying the driver and then closing the gate once he was gone, she carried her suitcase in to the house, and was surprised to find the door unlocked. Immediately an alarm went off in her had. _Tyler said he'd be out most of the night…and that isn't one of the servant's cars…._Walking into the dark front hall, she closed the door behind her, putting down her suitcase and laptop by the door, looking around, every shadow causing her to jump out of her skin. Up the stairs, she saw light shining out into the hallway, and heard a low murmur of voices. _Oh my god, someone's in here! _Now terrified, she was sure that whoever was down the hall could hear her heart, it was pounding so loud.

Angelica should have called the police, but it would have been almost pointless. In the time it would take them to get down there, the burglars would have become aware of her presence. The options were either flee or fight. Fleeing wasn't really an option, actually, because she had no car available at the moment…hers was at the shop, having the muffler repaired. Suddenly the murmur of voices ceased, and there was silence for a moment.

"What the hell are you doing ?" Suddenly echoed from up the stairs, making her jump, and then a loud gunshot assaulted her ears. Footsteps followed this, charging out of the room and a figure hurtled towards the stairs, as she stood at the bottom, frozen in place and terrified.. Suddenly the figure was followed by another one, brandishing what looked like one of the pokers from the fireplace upstairs, and somehow he overtook the first man just at the top of the stairs, and she screamed as he plunged the poker into his back four times in quick succession. She could see blood splattering on the floor and on the murderer, like a fountain from Hell. The body fell down the stairs, rolling over and over to land at her feet, face up, staring up at her with blank eyes and mouth agape, fear in his eyes. She screamed again and suddenly remembered that she had legs. Wrenching open the door, she plunged into the darkness, knowing that she couldn't run far, but she might make it into the city. It was mostly downhill for a mile or so, then three miles of flat terrain to the city.

Behind her, she heard the front door open and close, and footsteps pound the ground. He was chasing her, that she had expected, but she didn't stop running, terror putting wings on her feet. She hit the gate and tried to wrench it open, only to remember that not only did you need the code to get _in_, you needed it to get _out _as well. Just as she was beginning to frantically punch the numbers in, her fingers fumbling and pressing the wrong numbers, he caught up, pushing her to the gate, his hands at her throat. It was then that she looked into his face and recognised it.

"T-Tyler?" She said in disbelief, staring down at the blood-speckled face, who looked back up at her in anger, not fear or disbelief. "You k-k-k-killed that g-g-guy!" As she said this, he pressed her tighter, making it difficult to breathe. He had no sympathy for her just because she was his girlfriend. He had been struck dumb by the fact that she was there, but he had recovered quickly. Now he knew what he was going to have to do. He had felt a huge rush as he'd plunged the poker into Eric's back, something like he had felt the first time he'd tried cocaine, and he was still riding that rush like a surfer, and grinned sadistically at his girlfriend.

"Alright, you listen to me…you're not going to tell _anyone _about what you saw tonight. Do you understand me?" When she didn't answer, he pressed his hands tighter into her throat, and she choked before nodding reluctantly. "Good." With that, he dropped her to the ground, where she sat, holding her throat with her hand, before squealing as he grabbed her arm, dragging her towards the house. Shrieking like a banshee, she was silenced as he turned and slapped her across the face. Shocked, she was unwillingly pulled along and shoved into the house. He then dragged her up the stairs, taking no more notice of the dead body then he would of a piece of furniture, and threw her into her room before locking the door. In hindsight, she supposed she should have been worried when she'd learned that Tyler had the door to her room installed with locks on both sides, which she had learned when she'd first moved in. From behind the door, she heard him storm off down the hall and down the stairs.

Sitting on the bed, she grabbed the phone from it's cradle and put it to her ear, only to hear no dial tone. Tapping the button with her finger, she swore loudly into the phone before slamming it down. _Crap oh crap oh crap oh crap, this isn't happening, this isn't happening…It's a dream, that's it! I fell asleep at the airport, and now I'm dreaming. Any second now, someone will wake me up and then I'll get on my plane and head to my writer's convention…any second now…_Despite these hopeful thoughts, nobody came and awoke her from her nightmare. The time passed slowly, and below her she could hear things being moved around, as well as water sloshing around. _He's wiping away the evidence. Since when did my life turn into one of my novels!_

Around three in the morning she fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of blood and bloody pokers, and leering faces in the night. Half of her expected to be speared as she slept, but she figured that there wasn't much more she would be able to do if she was awake. Tyler jogged almost every day, and went to the gym a lot, so he was in great shape. Fully capable of killing her with no difficulty. Although she also went to the gym every so often, it was to stay slim, not to gain muscle, and so it was useless. Miraculously, however, she awoke the next day, whole and seemingly unharmed. The door was open, and her things sat next to the bed, indicating that he had come and gone at some point during the night. Standing up, she wrapped her arms around herself, shaking. She had witnessed a murder, and had somehow turned her life into one of her novels, except so far as she knew there was no daring detective on their way.

Walking out of the room, she was greeted with total and complete silence. There was no sound of Chef Pierre bustling in the kitchen cooking breakfast, or of the maids bustling around, setting the tables. As she stood against the railing, she looked down and saw that Richard was not at his usual post by the door. It was the sort of silence that you would hear in movies, with just a ticking clock in the background, but there wasn't even a ticking clock. Tyler didn't own anything that wasn't fully digital and modern. The silence unnerved her as she approached the stairs, half-expecting to still see the body lying at the bottom of the stairs. She was pleasantly relieved to see that the body was gone, and the signs of last night's escapade were gone. The only change was a oval carpet sitting at the top of the stairs. _Big enough to cover a body. _Angelica mused to herself as she descended the stairs, not quite brave enough to raise the carpet and see what was under there.

So far, nobody had attempted to stop her leaving the house. The silence seemed to suggest that she was the only one there, though in a house with walls of thick stone, that didn't count for much. Hesitantly, she put her hand to the door and pulled it open, expecting an alarm to go off, but nothing happened. Peering out into the driveway, she slid out, looking around. _Where is he? _If he wasn't around to stop her, then she was running for the city. Go to the police, beg for protection, and tell her story…With this thought in mind, she jogged towards the garage and pulled open the side door. The red corvette had been parked in there, but Tyler's black convertible was gone. _That car belongs to a dead man…_Angelica thought to herself with a disgusted shudder. Knowing exactly what people would think if she showed up driving a dead man's car, she turned, closing the door behind her. There had still been no sign that anybody was around in the castle, and she quickly turned and jogged towards the gate, her confidence bursting with each step. _I can do this…I can get away, and go to the police and get a murderer behind bars…and then I'll come back, get all of my stuff, and get the hell away from this house._

Her confidence went shattering down when she tried to put in the combination and was denied. Frowning, she punched in the number again. _3, 8, 9, 2, 0…Enter. _A loud buzz indicated that she was once again incorrect. Slamming her fist down on the little box that held the security pad, she tried again and again and was met with the constant buzzing that indicated failure. Closed doors, no escape…He'd changed the code. There was no way out. With a frustrated yell, she slammed her fist down on top of it again, then gave up. She leaned against the gates, wrapping her hands around the bars, tucking her arms in towards her, looking out. Trapped.

**((Alright, this seems like an appropriate place to put the end of the first chapter. Sorry that I don't really have the CSIs involved yet except for a small appearance by a CSI I'm sure you recognised :-P Next chapter will bring some of them in. I'm not sure if I'm going to have them all as main characters, but yeah, gotta stop rambling. Review please!))**


End file.
